


Decorus

by DWilde1891



Series: Decorus [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Will Graham is A-Okay, that is not always a good thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 20:34:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4891207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DWilde1891/pseuds/DWilde1891
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Will looks back on some of the things they’ve done to one another over the years, it seems obvious that it would come to this. They had been falling metaphorically since the beginning and this was a night for transformation. For things to step out of dreams and take on shape, and substance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Will and Hannibal-and I'm not totally sure about it. They're seriously hard characters to write-I throw down at the alter of Bryan Fuller for how effortless he made it look. 
> 
> As always, forgive the many typos. I suck at proofreading.
> 
> Please enjoy and all feedback welcome!

When Will looks back on some of the things they’ve done to one another over the years, it seems obvious that it would come to this. They had been falling metaphorically since the beginning and this was a night for transformation. For things to step out of dreams and take on shape, and substance.

The thin line between reality and delusion had faded long ago, Will no longer sought divide but accepted the overlap, the merging of what his physical body signalled as reality and the thousands of subconscious cues and perceptions that allowed his empathy to function. Everything was heightened. A film layer revealing the lies other people told themselves, streaming hot, bright, fierce and horrific over the casual blues and greys of everyday life.

Dolerhyde died as the Dragon, having accepted the duality of his own nature. Determined to wrestle back control from the monster and elevate himself from man in the process. By the end he killed because he wanted to, not because he had to, and that transformation, that distinction, was everything.

Or it used to be.

He was dead now, like so many others, and they lived. Bathed in the darkness of their blood, and the dragon they had defeated. 

“See.” a breath, a memory, a curse and a confession, “This is all I ever wanted for you," a breath, a prayer, "Will.” Hannibal’s breath was coming in great gulps, eyes burning as they desperately sought his confirmation and understanding, “For both of us.”

“It’s beautiful.” he murmured, because it was. Dolerhyde was dead. Will had torn open his stomach and Hannibal ripped out his throat. It was the most intimate thing he had ever shared. The violent, forcible taking of another’s life. Together they had cast the dragon down, back into the pit where it belonged.

Nodding a little, huffing a laugh, Will curled in closer and he felt it. The moment Hannibal let his guard down, the ecstasy at having finally gotten what he wanted blinding him entirely for just a moment. Forgetting whom he had chosen to love. Settling into Hannibal’s arms, gazing at the man they had killed together, Will only had to nudge a little. They were both weak, exhausted. Icy cold air punched through his lungs as the world rushed into nothing around them. Clinging together until the force of the waves dragged them apart.

Will caught Hannibal’s gaze only once, the salt water stung against his face, his shoulder, seeping into every worn out muscle. For a moment he just let it batter him. Sucked beneath the surface of the water, the roar absent of sound until he was ready to break the surface once more. Hannibal was calling his name, urgent, perhaps frightened, still blinded. Still missing the point.

After feeling along the currents of the water, Will closed his eyes he sought out those rooms, the doors he’d flung shut after Muskrat Farm never to be looked into again. In them he found Hannibal. The light of the church in Palermo. The flicker of candles, soft singing of hymns as dust gathered in the air. It was calm, and sacred. Breathing in the warm sunlight, allowing it to flood his veins with strength and certainty Will started to dig deep through the pain and start to swim.

Hannibal was nearby, still calling for him, still worried. Will forced his body to move, using the beauty of Palermo as a talisman and a guide as darkness swirled all around them. There was a shore nearby that he was certain they could reach and after grasping Hannibal’s wrist once, he tugged in the direction they needed to go. Hannibal’s breath was heaving and he nodded quickly to show he understood.

Will lost track of time. All he could do was push against the waves, trust that Hannibal was nearby because everything had ground down to one stroke, another stroke, the throb in his shoulder, the freely bleeding wound on his face. A straining rhythm matching each desperate beat of his heart, which he focused all his mind and will upon. By the time his feet hit something solid Will had vanished almost entirely from his body. Sunk deep into the vast rooms of the world they would build together. Palermo was the atrium, just the beginning. There would be so much more.

Heaving in great gusts of air, he stumbled to his feet on the dense sand only to collapse once more. Onto his back, as the moon shone bright and steady overhead. Hannibal all but fell at his side. They were both shivering, teeth chattering, muscles seizing up in retaliation against more movement.

Sighing, Hannibal’s head dropped to the side and he muttered, “Why must you do everything the difficult way?”

Will snorted with laughter, and had to stop when pain shot up his sides. Instead he rubbed his face, noting how much of the blood had been washed away, before very slowly getting to his feet. Hannibal reluctantly followed his lead. They couldn’t return to the house, but thankfully they were somewhere remote, on the coast, full of abandoned holiday homes and beach houses. Hannibal lead them to another modern looking structure perched on a sand bank. Tired and clumsy as they were, they still managed to jimmy open the front door and short circuit the alarm before anyone could be alerted.

Modern, indistinct, they dragged themselves through the main room towards the bathroom. Clothes unceremoniously dropped onto the floor in their wake, and together they shuffled into the huge granite shower. Turning up the heat and leaning against each other to stay upright.

Eyes closed beneath the water, Will smiled when he felt gentle fingertips run beneath the wound in his face, “This will scar.” Hannibal sounded disapproving.

“It can join the others.” Will responded, voice dry and raspy from consuming so much salt water.

“The Dragon was a fool.” the vehemence in Hannibal’s voice was surprising and Will dragged open his eyes so he could see him better, overwhelmed by the anger on his behalf, “To presume he had the right to take from us.”

Will’s lips quirked into a smile and he nestled his head against Hannibal’s shoulder, relieved when arms pulled him close. There was a swoop low in his belly, the sensation of falling and Will knew being near Hannibal would always feel this way, “That won’t happen again.”

Hannibal’s arms tightened possessively as he nosed Will’s wet hair, “No. It will not.”

Switching off the water, they dried with some luxurious white towels and rifled around the house for something to stitch up their wounds with. Will found whiskey and dental floss, while Hannibal conjured up a set of sewing needles.

Will found the heating. Ramping it up, they settled in the master bedroom, and dug out some sweatpants belonging to the owners. They were a bit loose for Will and short for Hannibal but it was better than nothing. Settling on the bed, their rudimentary first aid kit between them, a gulp was taken from the whiskey. Hannibal used it to sterilize the needle and before Will could say anything, Hannibal had gently positioned his head and started to stitch up the wound. His hands were as steady as they could be, considering the events of the evening, and Will settled in. It hurt, but it was a good hurt. With each stitch they were piecing one another back together.

The bottle was passed back and forth between them in meditative silence. By the time Will had to pull together the torn flesh on Hannibal’s back he was drowsy, a little drunk, but his hands were steady. Delicate and forceful, he ran rough fingertips down the strong muscles of Hannibal’s back. He was fluid and defined. Coiled, powerful and ready to strike. Before he could help himself Will found his lips resting against the back of Hannibal’s neck, the needle in his hand pulled taut after the third stitch. Hannibal stiffened, unable to pull away or move in case he damaged himself further.

Satisfied, Will smiled against the side of Hannibal’s neck, enjoying the press of their skin even if it was only light. A promise of something to come. Razing his teeth gently against hot skin, Will drew back and finished his work. Once they had bandaged themselves up using some basic dressings Hannibal had found under the sink, it was time to sleep. Tossing everything on the floor, Will went to the bathroom, took a long overdue piss and switched off the light before slipping into bed. Hannibal was a dark figure at his side, breathing slow and steady in the shadows.

When Will was settled Hannibal reached out and pulled him close. Comfortable curled up on his side, head on Hannibal’s chest, Will fell into a deep sleep. Black and entirely dreamless, he awoke sixteen hours later with Hannibal wrapped up around him. For a moment he considered moving, he could do with some water, maybe a visit to the bathroom, but it was warm. He ached like a motherfucker and he wanted to indulge this once.

“How do you feel Will?” Hannibal’s breath was soft against his cheek.

“Like I fell off a cliff.” Will murmured back, holding Hannibal’s arm and pressing back against his chest, “How about you?”

Hannibal hummed and pressed his lips against his neck, “Like I have been found, at last.”

Will smiled, and together they dozed for a little while, kissing when their lips brushed, tracing their bodies with firm, curious caresses. They knew one another’s minds intimately, so similar, so different, a gentle unfolding of knowledge and perception enforced through blood and violence. Their bodies, however, were something quite different. Will had always admired Hannibal in an abstract way. Tall, well put together, noble, glacial, untouchable but always that deep, rich vein of sensuality that ran through everything he was. It was irrepressible and Will revelled in being with someone at last whose desires were as all consuming as his own.

In the end hunger dragged them out of bed. Will collected the whisky from the floor and took a sip as he scratched the scar on his belly, deliberately ignoring Hannibal’s disapproval as he headed to the bathroom. Rubbing the gunk out of his eyes, Will glanced at his face. He was still pale and it hurt to blink, but the scar would be small. Delicate even. A match to the one Jack had given Hannibal in Florence.

Once he was done he wandered back to the main living area and found Hannibal in the dull, clinical kitchen. Of course. Wearing a pained sort of expression as he took account of what little food was available. Hitching up onto the counter, Will gazed outside. It was evening again. Dark, the wind howling around them as waves crashed against the shore. Taking another sip of whiskey he decided to leave Hannibal to it, and slunk towards the huge alien television. After much confusion, he finally found the right remote control and local news exploded in technicolour on the screen.

It was a report about Hannibal. His escape, and the many FBI agents Dolerhyde had killed. There was another photograph of him. At this point in time he was being treated as a hostage.

“They are a little behind the times.” Hannibal noted, resting his nose against Will’s neck and breathing him in.

“Jack will find the house in the next few hours.” Will stated, working through the timelines in his head, “We should leave before then.”

“And go where?” Hannibal pulled him round, gaze serious and imploring as he pressed their lips together, “I have promises to keep.”

Will's eyes slipped closed as he let the pendulum swing. Seeking out the shape of someone else’s mind, “Alana will run.” he decided, reopening his eyes and gazing at Hannibal once more, “She has Margot’s money and a son to protect. We might never find them.”

“‘We?’” Hannibal quoted, sounding both delighted and bemused, “You would come with me?”

“I didn’t throw us off a cliff to pull back now.” Will said irritably, nudging Hannibal away and running a hand through his dirty hair. He hadn’t washed it last night, too tired, too covered in blood. Now that was what he wanted most. Clean hair, clean clothes, something to frame his newly awakened senses.

“Alana is your friend Will.” Hannibal explained, as though he needed to outline Will’s arguments for him, “She traded her life for yours.”

“It was a trade she made knowingly.” Will didn’t feel any pity for her or Margot, “I warned her to stay away from you, and she didn’t listen. She assumed I was unstable and paranoid.” he took another swig of whiskey before putting it on the coffee table and turning to face Hannibal, arms crossed over his chest, feet planted firmly apart as the sweat pants slipped down his slender hips, “Alana couldn’t stop feeling sorry for me. She, like everyone else, underestimates just how far I am willing to go to get what I want.”

Hannibal’s eyes gleamed and his cheeks were flushed with heat and pleasure, “It will not be pleasant for her.”

“Nor should it be.” Will returned, unaware of how his eyes were glowing, alight with fury and a newly renewed strength of purpose Hannibal found irresistible. Following instinct alone he strode forward and swept Will up into a passionate kiss, more intense than any they had shared thus far.

Picking Will up from the floor, he carried him back through to the master bedroom and swept off the sweatpants that had barely hung on and devoured Will’s semi hard cock in one long swallow. Will arched from the bed and cried out as heat shuddered through his veins. It was sloppy, Hannibal uncharacteristically eager and Will adored each and every second. The stress of the last few weeks, their teasing, games and courtship were now reaching their logical conclusion.

Will lost himself in pleasure. The firm heat of Hannibal’s mouth, the determined curl of his tongue and grasping clutch of strong fingers pressing hard against his thighs were enough. Will came loud and hard, dizzy from alcohol, blood loss and exhaustion, seeing red instead of white as his breathing settled to normal.

Conscious of a rhythmic sound from down the bed, Will drew up a foot and found Hannibal’s hand wrapped around his own cock. Pressing down once and ordering him to stop, Will nudged Hannibal up to him. They kissed long, bitingly, Will’s tongue buried so deep in Hannibal’s throat he could taste himself. Pushing Hannibal onto his back, Will allowed a few moments indulgence. Nosing Hannibal’s tight pink nipples, admiring the tightness of his muscles, the surprising firmness of his stomach after three years imprisonment.

“How many crunches did you do a day?” Will asked, his tongue dipping into Hannibal’s belly button.

“Prison is terribly dull Will.” his voice was shaking a little, “You ought to know.”

Will hummed in agreement before sliding down further and admiring Hannibal’s cock. Satisfyingly large, uncut, it would leave a decent ache behind. As would his. Freddie Lounds wasn’t exaggerating about the size of the black box she had to use to preserve his modesty. Nosing it a little, he licked the head, swallowed down once, twice, before pulling away again.

“No more games Will.” Hannibal ordered, sounding tense and irritable.

Will shot him a look because, really, the games were only just beginning. Instead he continued to nose down, taking Hannibal’s balls into his mouth one after another. Reaching below to caress Hannibal’s hard thighs, up along his ass cheeks. Hannibal only seemed to understand what Will was doing when it finally happened. Licking one strip along the crack of his ass, Will pulled the cheeks open and delved in deep. The noise Hannibal made, somewhere between a gasp and a cry was more than a little satisfying.

Taking his time, Will wrapped one hand around the base of Hannibal’s cock and used his fingers alongside his tongue to massage Hannibal open. He was tight, tense, clearly unaccustomed to this position judging by how long it took his fingers to loosen on the blanket, only to grip them firm once again when discomfort and pain transitioned into pleasure. Jacking slowly and firmly, Will’s tongue and fingers caressed, prodded and inflamed that vulnerable place Hannibal had never entrusted to anyone. 

Shuddering to breathe and giving up on English entirely to curse in Lithuanian, Will received the barest of warnings before Hannibal arched off the bed, come shooting across his stomach and chest. Riding him gently through orgasm, Will withdrew his tongue, pressed a kiss to Hannibal’s hole and crawled up the bed, admiring his work. The sheen of sweat, rapid beating of a strong heart, as well as a fierce glare.

“I did not expect you to do that.”

Will pressed a kiss against his lips and smirked when Hannibal pulled fussily away, “It it that you didn’t expect me to know how to do it, or that you never expected me to do it at all?”

Hannibal continued to glare, “You have a marked number of issues surrounding intimacy.”

“Yes, and for a long time I couldn’t tell the difference between what was real and what was in my head.” he nosed along Hannibal’s jaw and kissed his collarbone, gently worrying the thin skin between his teeth, “Casual sex with strangers can be grounding.”

"I did not guess that about you."

Will looked up, frowning a little, "It was a long time ago."

"What about when you were undergoing therapy with me?"

"If you recall, that was when my grip on reality was at its frailest." Will spoke slowly, fingertips resting above the cavity where Hannibal's heart continued to beat, gradually returning to its usual steady pace, "But I struggled for years before I had even read the name Hannibal Lecter."

Hannibal eyed him, clearly unhappy and he repeated as though it was entirely Will's fault, "I did not guess that about you."

Deciding that this conversation wasn't going to either of them good, Will pressed his lips to Hannibal's neck and rolled off the bed, "I'm going to take a shower, so should you, and we should think about hotwiring a car." the fact that Hannibal remained silent, watching him, was hardly a surprise.

\--

Hannibal lay on a stolen bed and watched Will as he strode into the ensuite without looking back. It wasn't something Will did an awful lot of, he considered. Once he committed to a course of action, it was impossible to dissuade him from it.

Hannibal was aware that at any point he could have asked Will to stop, to cease invading his body, but by the time he had been ready to act heat and sweet, surprising pleasure had picked him apart and there was nothing else to do but surrender.

No one had dared touch him like that before. Hannibal's lovers had all predominantly been women, and the few men he had taken to his bed were drawn to his need to dominate. They allowed him to bring them to the brink of ecstasy over and over again until he grew tired of their company and sent them away. Completion or release were conventional excuses for sex, and Hannibal had long ago learned that it took more than physical sensation alone to bring him the satiation he craved.

Of course Will, who he could never fully predict, would be confident and experienced enough to do it. To tear away Hannibal's assured role and reshape it according to his needs. Cruel, selfish man who gave in one way only to take in another.

The shower flicked off and Hannibal reluctantly got out of bed. He was tired and it was comfortable here, but he was not ready to engage with Will at this moment. It was too uncertain and Hannibal was unhappy at the bitter twist of jealousy he felt towards anyone who had been Will's anchor during times of distress.

Dressing in the same sweatpants, he returned to the kitchen. There was coffee, and he gratefully brewed them both a cup before settling on a full meal of dried pasta, extra virgin olive oil and more dried herbs. Will, when he was done, thanked him for the coffee and drifted away again. There was an absent, determined cast to his features that signalled he was planning something.

When he was finished with their sorry excuse for dinner, Hannibal joined Will in the couch area. He was settled on the floor next to the coffee table, maps spread around him. Taking the plate with a brief smile of thanks, he scribbled notes and plans in an abandoned Moleskin notebook while Hannibal watched the news, intrigued as always by this version of events.

Freddie Lounds was still alive. He wondered how amenable Will would be to killing her. For real this time.

Will took a bite of his food, only to devour it within a few breaths soon after. If it had been anyone else, in any other situation, Hannibal would have found it distasteful. There was reason, he supposed, for this show of poor manners and for a moment Hannibal couldn't decide what he wanted more. Will to pay him the attention he deserved, or to remain in this silence free of conscious communication where he did not have to think too intricately about this unexpected shift in their relationship.

In the end the decision was made for him. Will finished his pasta and handed Hannibal a map.

"I have another boat."

Hannibal looked at the route Will had picked for them. Despite their short lead, it cautiously stayed away from all the obvious places the FBI would curtail their journey, doubled back once or twice, before bringing them to a small town in South Carolina.

"Molly never knew." Will answered the question before he could ask, "No one did."

Hannibal nodded, appreciating Will's preparation. It was smart, naturally. He himself had many hidden accounts and homes around the U.S. and the rest of the world, but he expected many of them to be seized very soon. 

"How far can you sail us Will?" he questioned.

"I sailed to Europe." Will ran fingertips along the edge of the bowl, absently licking up some olive oil, "I can take us anywhere."

Hannibal tried to suppress a little of his surprise, but it was difficult. Will was a fisherman. Will fixed boat engines in his spare time. Will was a stronger swimmer than he, unfazed by the clash and blow of the sea. Of course he could chart them a course around the world. Another oversight. Hannibal wondered when he would stop making them. It frustrated him as much as it excited.

"My business isn't complete here." he reminded gently.

"We can get into Baltimore undetected. They won't be looking for us there. Bedelia is too in love with her own fatality to run. She's waiting for you." his lips curled into a dark smile, "For us."

There was another flutter of pleasure under his skin, "So you suggest we disappear only to return under their noses to pay a visit to dear Bedelia?"

"Yes." Will crawled forward, warm hands sliding up the outside of Hannibal's thighs as he drew up to his knees, "That is what I suggest."

Hannibal allowed a half smile but did not move into the promise of Will's embrace and judging by his stillness, nor did Will expect him too, "Then I will take a shower and we should remove all trace of our presence from this house."

Agreeing, Will drew away and stood up so much more gracefully than Hannibal would have thought him capable a few years ago. This newly evolved Will was only just beginning to take shape in Hannibal's mind, in his life, and the anticipation buzzing through his nerves at each new revelation was intoxicating.

For the last three years he had done little more than speculate, wondering on the promise Will had displayed during his hunt through Europe. His ruthless finesse and casual abuse of others. Forcing Chiyoh to make a decision which after twenty years even Hannibal couldn't. Tearing out the cheek of Mason Verger's cook with his bare teeth and smiling as blood dripped from his mouth. Calm, so calm now, passionate and heartbreakingly beautiful.

No one would see him coming, and as he watched Will carefully gather their ruined clothing into black refuse sacks, Hannibal was forced to reflect that he certainly hadn't.

\--

Hannibal was mostly silent, and reflective on their journey to South Carolina. They stole three cars, Hannibal hotwiring two and Will the last, keeping to sleazy motel rooms and beaten up diners in order to stay off grid.

Will stole a wallet and used the cash as a down payment to hustle money off some college kids on a roadtrip in a strip club come bar just outside Maryland. Hannibal found a back street poker game and cleaned out all the players. The first thing they did was trade in their dirty stolen clothes for something halfway decent. Flannel and jeans for Will, slacks and sweaters for Hannibal.

They both had a little money stashed away, but until they were sure which accounts the FBI would seize all they could do was linger on the edges of society and wait. Will, to his surprise, was having a great time. For so long he had hidden in plain sight and that was a very different sort of game. It relied on being just invested in your cover enough for other people to buy it, but not so much you forgot what you really were.

Hannibal was the master, of course. Looking back to those early days he realised that Hannibal had never lied, exactly, merely revelled in a refined language of double speak that obscured his true meaning. Hannibal Lecter. That eloquent, handsome man. Brutal murderer and serial cannibal. Nonsense, he just has a splendidly dark sense of humour.

Will smirked a little to himself and glanced sidelong at Hannibal. He was gazing quietly out the window, at the endless expanse of American country as though he was seeing something else altogether. Perhaps he was. Perhaps it was Will he was trying to work out.

Since the other night at the beach house Hannibal had barely been tactile and Will was patient enough to let him reach out again when ready. There was nothing to be done about it, or so he assumed, until they were at another bar that night and Hannibal casually snapped the neck of a woman that had been trying desperately to catch Will's attention.

They were alone in the corridor leading to the male and female bathrooms. Will had gone for a piss, the woman had been waiting to accost him, and now she lay dead at his feet. Hannibal's gaze calm and cold.

"See." he repeated.

Will sighed and rubbed his brow. Rather than respond he turned on his heel and returned to the bathroom, jumping out the window into the parking lot. The crunch of gravel behind him suggested Hannibal was following at his heels. Deciding he needed to drive, that it would help to clear his head, Will pulled away and headed into the night, The further south they travelled the warmer it was becoming and Will could feel sweat beading down his neck as he fought to bring his rage under control. Now that it fully registered, the woman was not a woman but a girl. No older than twenty one, with long dark hair and sultry brown eyes. Probably a prostitute, taking her trade on the road so family and friends wouldn't find out.

"What point were you trying to make?" Will questioned, voice as calm as he could manage as they cut alone through the dark back roads.

Hannibal was still, coiled, twisted with his back against the door so he could look at Will directly, "You returned her attention."

"Yes, with one smile after she offered to buy me a drink that I turned down." he couldn't believe they were having this conversation, "Do you have any idea how long it would take me to snap the neck of each of your fawning disciples?"

Hannibal's lips quirked, he clearly liked the description, "I would be happy to oblige that desire, but I fear we would leave Baltimore bereft of a high society once you were done."

Will's fingers gripped the steering wheel harder and he returned, "That wouldn't exactly be a shame."

"What would be the point of the higher arts if there were no one to fund or support them?"

"That is a poor excuse for hoarding of riches and mass social neglect." Will parried.

"We each forge our own path."

"No. Each path that exists has been carved out by others and we have a responsibility to open bridges between them." he thought of the dead girl again, "She was a prostitute Hannibal. I was just a meal ticket to her, she had no reason to die."

Hannibal shrugged and moved so he was viewing the road once more, "You make the mistake of assuming it has anything to do with her."

Will's nostrils flared and he swung the car onto the side of the road, flicked off the engine and launched himself into Hannibal's lap. There was a faint gasp of surprise followed by a deep moan of pleasure when Will forced his tongue into Hannibal's mouth.

Dragging blunt nails across the back of Hannibal's neck and gripping his short hair, Will shuddered as two huge hands gripped at his waist. Still, firm, Hannibal's body vibrating with a need he continued to deny despite the vehemence of his kisses. Will, tired of the reluctance, decided he would get what he wanted one way or another.

Still kissing Hannibal, he rippled back. Just enough to keep pressure on Hannibal's erection, while making space for Will to grasp his own. Back supported by the dashboard, he flicked down his flies, and started to stroke. Quick, hard, not denying himself anything as Hannibal’s fingers gripped in deeper, harder, shaped as claws prepared to rend flesh. Will’s lips pulled back into a sneer, eyes locked with Hannibal, absorbing every single emotion buried in them effortlessly.

To be sensual, to feel with the body as well as the mind, was a precious and surprisingly subtle quality to admire and encourage. Will’s charm lay in his ignorance, his naivety, the general disinterest in his body. That right was reserved for Hannibal alone, who decided long ago that if Will could not take care of himself, that right would be taken away from him. The plan had always been to shape Will according to Hannibal’s desires, to subsume his empathy and create a mirror, a double, the perfect mimic to suit Hannibal’s perfect narcissism.

The pride and simple presumption was admirable, steeped in a darkness so profound it was without end. Hannibal wanted Will, and he was denying his own passion because others had gotten there first. Will felt no jealousy for his many other shadows. Chiyoh, Randal, Margot, Abigail, Bedelia. Mischa. Hannibal’s own need to devour was his weakness and Will would exploit it.

So he spread his legs, fucked into his fist and groaned with the sheer heady pleasure of it all. The force of Hannibal’s desire was intoxicating and Will let the poison roll around his head, the need belonging to another fuelling each twist, each flick, each throb. Just as Will was ready to come Hannibal released a dark growl and grasped hold of his wrist so hard the bones ground together.

Panting, Will bit his lip and ducked his head forward, looking up at Hannibal from beneath lowered lashes, “Would you like me to flirt with you a little more?”

Hannibal’s teeth were bared, face white with rage, “This performance is beneath you.”

“Killing that girl was beneath you.” Will panted a little, heart pounding, that primal throb of something shining, clear and powerful taking up space in his mind, his body, “She was a child, desperate for money to pay her way through college. She was lovely, Hannibal-and in death you revealed her for something she wasn’t.” he surged forward, breath hard against Hannibal’s ear, “Just another back street whore, dead on the piss soaked floor of an off road bar.”

Hannibal snapped, one hand at Will’s throat, the other at his cock. Stroking savagely as fingers gradually but meticulously cut out his air supply. Rather than resist, he just assumed that Hannibal didn’t actually want to kill him this time and let him take over. Will’s was surrender weapon enough for Hannibal to soften his grip and Will didn’t hesitate to take the advantage. Pushing down Hannibal’s fly and gripping the hot length of his cock.

“I’m going to ride you.” Will promised, his hand moving hard down the length of Hannibal’s dick, fingers reaching out for the weight of his balls, “Tie you to the bed until you’re nothing more than an animal. Desperate to grab me, own me.” he rested his teeth against Hannibal’s jugular and delighted in the hiss of pleasure that followed a particularly determined twist.

Hannibal’s free hand slipped up Will’s back, fingernails dragging across his skin, “I do own you.”

Will bucked deliberately, desperately into Hannibal’s hand and let hot, fierce desire translate into something that took his words from him. All body, for once, mind subsumed as he locked eyes with the killer in his soul and let what they shared pull them both under. Will rode his orgasm out. Delighted by Hannibal’s need to control something he couldn’t. Hannibal’s climax was more a grunt, a reluctant exaltation of something he thought beneath him and Will kissed him softly as punishment. A few short moments of silence, a passing car bracing them briefly with light before darkness settled once again.

“You are not a boy.” Hannibal murmured, long fingers trapped in Will’s thick, messy curls.

“No.” he agreed, leaning back and zipping back up, “You treat anyone not you as a child.” he paused, “Aside from Bedelia.”

Pulling away demonstrated enough distaste for that entire tiring concept. Bedelia had survived Hannibal’s interest, and it irritated. It wasn’t jealousy, that was too simplistic an interpretation. In a moment of vulnerability Hannibal had gone to her. Sucked her into his world and she had been calculated enough to prepare a reason, an excuse, the melodrama anchored in enough hokey psychiatry for people to believe her innocence.

They were good at the same things, Will reflected, as he pulled back onto the road. Being what they were in the open while pretending that they weren’t. Bedelia felt the need to confess to him that she was cruel, that she murdered because she had the opportunity, but hadn’t the dignity to claim and embrace the death she knew she was owed. Hubris allowed her to believe she had danced with the devil and survived, until someone released him from the pit. Tore away the chains and allowed the natural order to assert itself.

“Bedelia is a trusted colleague.” Hannibal chastised.

Will tried not to roll his eyes at the tediousness of his denial, “Bedelia is one of yours Hannibal.”

Hannibal didn’t move, but Will sensed his minute flinch, “No. Never.”

Will shot him a look, “There is a distinction I believe I lack insight on.”

Rather than respond Hannibal resumed his examination of Will’s face. It was easier in the darkness, with the reflected light of cars and sparing street lamps to give him a sharp reflection to work from. Rather than pull off at a motel Will just drove. Sleep would have allowed nightmares and Hannibal seemed content to wait until he’d reached his limit.

It was was a pleasant change from being pushed to them, Will supposed.

In the end a twenty six hour journey winding around South Carolina became sixteen and the moment Will crawled into the bed beneath deck sleep hit him like a ton of concrete. Hannibal watched only briefly before succumbing once more. For all his pretense, he was still human and there were things he couldn't resist either.

That thought wasn't as comforting as it ought to be.

\--

Will was punishing him, and it was a thorn beneath Hannibal's skin that he had every right to. This jealousy was unbecoming. Will certainly didn't seem to be troubled by the arguably more intimate relationships he'd shared with others over the years. Those he had shaped into newer, more destructive versions of themselves. Will had just used people for sex, that was nothing, mundane even. One of the more usual outlets for dealing difficult or negative emotions.

This is what Hannibal was trying to condition himself into believing, but it was proving difficult.

The animal part of him, the one he gave rein to when killing, was a restless, pacing presence in his mind that looked at Will and just _wanted_. It's needs were fierce and intractable. Desperate to grasp hold of everything Will was, tear away his flesh and grasp the bright white kernel of his soul and swallow it whole.

It had never been this acute before. Perhaps it was related to his long captivity, the forced withdrawal of his favourite drug. The bright dark energy hidden beneath the guileless blue of Will's eyes. The bitter, wry turn of full lips as horrors unfolded powerfully across all his senses. The force of his beauty and intellect poorly preserved in memory, no match for the reality.

Will's awareness of who exactly watched him at all times didn't help. Hannibal's skill set was impressive by any measure one employed. Writing, drawing, cooking, composing. It was simply a matter of patience, of meticulously learning from mistakes and improving on them until all vestige of failure has been removed. There was very little he couldn't master given enough time and reason, and yet he was not at home here.

This little boat of theirs was unquestionably Will's domain. While Hannibal found peace hidden behind his walls, in rooms he had designed, filled with people he had fooled, Will belonged in the open air. Moving with confidence and grace across the swaying deck, his mind occupied by navigation, the drifts of the sea, it's endless sparkling depths as the wind ruffled his messy curls. Two days exposure and he was already beginning to tan, switching out flannel for thin white t-shirts, leaving Hannibal to watch the lean ripple of muscles in his arms as he wound ropes, maintained the engines, electrics and steered their tiny vessel leisurely along the South Carolina coast.

There was no clear provocation. Will smiled more, indifferent to the quickly scarring wound in his face. Fleeting, intimate touches on Hannibal's neck, his thigh. A kiss in the morning. A touch of playfulness drawn from the newspapers he picked up in town, remarking on how their column space was getting smaller as the Red Dragon's got larger. It was all a game. A facsimile version of Will with all his lovely, purifying fire removed. A taster of what Hannibal once assumed he wanted and he hated it with a passion. This monstrous domesticity as though they weren't demons in human guise, preparing to tear through the lives of people they had once claimed to care for.

The moment it became unbearable, when he dragged Will's rope from the deck and used it to tie his wrists to the headboard as he slept, Hannibal knew he'd given ground. Too much. Enough for Will to wake at once, confused, and smirk when he understood what was happening.

"We aren't moored Hannibal." Will drawled, shoulders rolling against the bed in distraction as his wrists worked to test the knots, "What if we loose our bearings?"

"You wouldn't loose us." Hannibal murmured with reluctant conviction.

What they shared was inversive. Will's heart and passion inflamed Hannibal, sparking feelings he had never known or just simply dismissed and forgotten as the years went on. The strength of Will's conviction resurrecting true human feelings he had thought beneath him.

Will, however, drew from Hannibal's intellect and cruelty. Used it to order the madness of others as they ran riot in his head. It made him unpredictable. Hannibal was one monster, Will co-existed with many. They were as they were because Will allowed it. It could not be any other way.

“Perhaps not.” he shifted once more, suggesting he was getting comfortable, “It makes a nice change, not being drugged.”

Hannibal couldn’t help a small smile, “On this occasion, I would prefer you aware of what is happening.”

Will’s gaze sharpened, a spark of something he had missed, “Yes, what is happening? If it’s not rude of me to ask.”

“You have been avoiding me.”

“On a boat this size?” he was playing, innocent and irritated. Hannibal felt his desire flare, as it was meant to no doubt.

“That is not what I meant.”

Will searched him once more and Hannibal remained still, expression fixed, and it seemed Will found what he was looking for. The mask dropped and bare intellect and passion trapped him in a sudden glare, “Then this is your apology.”

Hannibal felt a snarl gathering on his lips and only just maintained his facade of indifference, “It is not acceptable Will. I cannot allow you to withdraw from me.”

A flash, something hot and dark and Will moved against the sheets once more, a slow, sensuous wave that made his heart pound involuntarily. It was warm at night, and he slept in boxer shorts alone. Lean, strong muscles clenching and relaxing as Will sought comfort, “I thought we had established that was impossible.”

Hannibal moved swiftly, straddling Will’s lap, “I also believed that was the case.” he pursed his lips, a small hint at the depth of his frustration, “You have demonstrated otherwise, on more than one occasion.”

“Has it occurred to you that I was lying?” Will asked, shifting his legs a little to accommodate for Hannibal’s weight.

“Yes.” he narrowed his eyes little, “The reasoning for which has never been clear, when you knew from the very earliest where our interactions would lead. Before I did, I would hazard.”

“From the moment you wound your victims into my lures.” he paused, considered, “After I coughed up Abigail’s ear,” his voice was low with wry black humour, “ I consider it your first love letter.”

Hannibal smirked, “I consider Matthew Brown yours.”

Will’s smile was bright this time, full and affectionate, “I wish I had seen it. There’s such irony in you being prostrated like Christ.”

“I was your sacrifice.” Hannibal murmured, fingertips resting on Will’s chest, reaching, soaking in the heat of his body.

“Interesting.” his lip curled, “Bedelia decided that you were my God, that I was desperate to fall in ecstasies at your feet.”

“How much time did you spend with Bedelia?” he was curious, jealousy flaring once more but he couldn’t accurately pinpoint the source. It was a mingling. That Will had gone to her. That Bedelia had spoken frankly of their time in Florence together. An intimacy between them Hannibal couldn’t share.

“She took your place as my therapist as I sought the Red Dragon. Her style is...similar to yours.”

Hannibal processed that as carefully as he could. Bedelia, for all her grace and intellect, had never quite understood Will Graham’s virtues. It was a failing he could never bring himself to forgive. Had she seen his brilliance, their lives could have been different. He wouldn’t be quite so preoccupied with what he was planning to serve at her table.

“Bedelia is honest with few people.” Hannibal allowed a finger to trace across one of Will’s red nipples, toying lightly until it hardened, Will’s scent shifting towards arousal even as his expression remained impassive, “It is not her nature.”

“In that case I am humbled by her confidence.” Will drawled, a low hint of his southern childhood curling through the words. Hannibal found it unexpectedly pleasurable.

“It would be rude to be anything else.” he asserted lightly, leaning down so he could breath in the heat of Will’s neck, feel the steady beat of his heart against his lips. Resisting what he wanted without clear purpose had unsettled him, and Hannibal decided it was time to resolve the situation. From Will he took a kiss that was slow, and thorough, tasting each and every inch of his mouth as his hands moved purposefully across smooth, hot skin.

Will met him with fire, legs shifting so his thighs could tighten against Hannibal’s waist, another smooth ripple brushing their hard cocks together. It was unexpected and exciting, the animal in Hannibal’s heart growling with deep appreciation. Soon after that he lost track, settling into sound and scent, grasping Will’s dick, spreading precome across the head and pumping fast and sure. Will’s gasps and murmurs feeding into the symphony Hannibal was building in his head. A terrific cacophony of sound, as vast and enveloping as the sea. Building to one inevitable climax.

Until the world shifted and Hannibal’s head landed in the pillows, Will on his lap, razor blade at his throat, “Will.”

Grinning, Will pressed down with one hand while he kicked off the rest of his boxers with the other, “Hannibal.”

“Where have you been hiding that?” he asked politely, reaching out to run his fingers along Will’s cock, beautifully red and gleaming in the lamplight.

“We must have some secrets Hannibal.” Will returned, throwing it aside and devouring Hannibal’s mouth, one hand reaching out to a draw, removing something he dropped onto the other pillow.

“A hint?” Hannibal murmured.

“To some.” Will hummed back, “I would prefer you think of it as an invitation.”

Just as Hannibal articulated the question most expected in these situations, a question he did not expect to ask until their last sexual encounter, Will turned around so his ass was positioned above Hannibal’s face, hands shoving aside his boxer shorts so Will’s mouth could envelope his cock.

It had been a long, long time since anyone had done this for him. Even longer since he had wanted anyone to and for an endless, beautiful moment Hannibal questioned his own logic. Sex was about power. Taking when seemingly giving, and it was an art form Will must have mastered long ago. Hannibal never knew, never expected, and he _should have known._

“As much as I adore this brief surrender,” Will drawled, lifting his head and forgoing that delicious wet heat, “I would appreciate some attention.”

Hannibal smirked as he reached out to collect the bottle, rubbing the liquid into his fingers, “I have been accused of many things Will. Neglecting you is not one of them.”

“At the moment that is entirely up for negotiation.” Will hummed against his cock and Hannibal gasped in appreciation.

“Then I must correct such a scandalous interpretation.”

The lovely, enticing groan Will made when Hannibal breached the first ring of muscle played and merged with Hannibal’s own when Will’s mouth sank all the way down, until the tip of his cock was pressed against the muscles of Will’s throat. It was a slowly stoked fire, the two of them settling into this new ebb and flow of their bodies, their minds. Once again it was Will who decided they needed to change. Shifting until he was raised above Hannibal’s cock, grasping it and sinking down, down, his beautiful curled hair aflame as he moved slowly, easily at the place their bodies joined.

For a moment Hannibal wondered if this is what the Dragon saw. His woman bathed in light, divine and powerful, aglow with the sheer vibrancy of their joining. Overwhelmed to be in the presence of something other, greater, and so, so his. Theirs. For as long as they could endure it.

Grasping Will tight Hannibal sat up, fingers knotted in his hair, teeth at his neck, thrilled by Will’s full body shudder. The memory of the last thing those teeth had done, what they could do again making him cry out involuntarily.

“Will.” he hissed, rubbing their faces together as he felt pressure build against his cock, crushed by Will’s muscles, “My Will.”

“Hannibal.” Will breathed back, still rocking, thighs hard and tight against his, “Come on Hannibal.”

It was a soft urging, spurred on by the glimpse of Will’s face, the intensity in his eyes. Holding Will, he pumped harder, once, twice and all of a sudden they were coming. Will’s arms collapsed over Hannibal’s shoulders, the clampdown of his hole tearing Hannibal’s orgasm from him. They fell away from each other reluctantly, Will to the side, Hannibal back to the pillows.

Taking a few moments to settle his breathing Hannibal reached out, fingers brushing Will’s calf, “What do you see Will?”

“Colour.” he murmured, “Shot through with gold. Long, winding strands reaching into the past, the future.”

A beautiful vision, he expected nothing less.

“Have you ever tried to capture your visions?” Hannibal murmured.

“No.” Will shifted and crawled up Hannibal’s body, dropping kisses as he went, “Who would want to see what I see?”

“The readers of Tattle Crime.” he suggested, laughing a little when he felt Will’s teeth scrape across his chest in response before continuing more seriously, “You have a gift, it should be shared.”

“It is.” Will’s lips rested against his, “I don’t have your desire to be seen all the time. Knowing you comprehend is more than enough.”

Hannibal rolled onto his side, tucking Will up against his chest, locking their knees tight, “I think it is something you should explore. The FBI made for a poor audience.”

Will hummed and settled back against him, “I’ll think about it, we have time.”

“Yes.” he agreed, “I suppose we do.”

\--

Returning to Baltimore was easy. They’d been off radar for two months, and even if the house had been found it was unlikely Price and Zeller would have discovered anything to point the FBI in the right direction. There was a cliff. They fell from it. The water washing away all evidence. For now they had a little respite, and it would depend entirely on Jack whether or not he seriously wanted to pursue them anymore after they were finished with their visitations.

Will let his beard grow out a little more, Hannibal chose to trim it and once they had purchased suitable clothes they were ready for their dinner with Bedelia. Hannibal waited comfortably in her lounge while Will lurked in the shadow of the hallway. Bedelia wasn’t surprised, that wasn’t how she operated, but Will noted a particular sort of pleasure at finding Hannibal alone. A bitter sense of victory that Will had perished at Hannibal’s hand.

Standing perfectly still he watched as she sought to draw Hannibal out, and away. A glass of wine for her, for him, slow, enticing movements. Their language was soft but barbed and Will simply chose not to listen. He wouldn’t learn anything. Bedelia, taking advantage of Will’s death would stake her claim. To be the last of Bluebeard’s wives. Using the few pieces of insight Hannibal allowed her to have as a demonstration of something unique, and special. Worthy of preservation.

Just as Will had settled in that level beneath his conscious mind, where his empathy gnawed and pulsed he heard the smash of a glass. Drawing slowly out of the cold shadow Bedelia called a soul, he blinked at her body laying across the floor. Hannibal was glaring at the splash of red across pale upholstery as though it personally offended him.

“She struggled unexpectedly.” Hannibal muttered, making it clear whose fault he believed that to be.

“Salt draws out all impurity.” Will suggested, his voice slow as he took in the length of Bedelia’s body, the scattering of her perfect blonde hair murmuring, “That outfit won’t do.”

Hannibal was unamused, clearly ready to issue a reprimand when something in Will's face held him back. Instead he nodded once, "Of course not, but we must prepare first."

Will didn't nod, merely watched as Hannibal carried her down to the basement they had appropriated earlier. A surgical table and equipment had been procured from one of Hannibal's hidden storage units. Will stood aside and watched as Hannibal checked her pulse, carefully removing black stilettos, silk stockings and slicing up one half of her skirt, leaving the other intact. To preserve her modesty no doubt.

Deciding this scene was too intimate to be shared, Will withdrew. Hannibal didn't seem to mind. Rolling up his sleeves, Will took sea salt from the kitchen and grabbed a cloth. Hannibal had bought his own ingredients, it wouldn't be missed.

Pouring it over the still damp wine splashed across the carpet, he watched as the salt absorbed the stain before rubbing it in deeper. When he was satisfied he dug out a vacuum from a neatly ordered cupboard beneath the stairs to suck up the remaining salt. Once he was done it was good as new. Apart from the broken glass. That would have to be replaced.

Leaving a note for Hannibal explaining where he was going, Will jumped into their stolen black Mustang and headed into town. It was a classic, a beautiful piece of engineering that roared when prompted and was extremely sensitive to touch. Will loved it and Hannibal, aware that Will asked for so little, allowed him to keep it. The fact that it's former owner was their second kill together only made him a little more amenable.

Nothing so grand as besting a dragon, they had been suit shopping. Will was being fitted and the tailor's hand lingered too long on the inside of his thigh, making blatant overtures to them both. Hannibal's temper was ice and he agreed a time and place to meet. Just a bar. They had two glasses of whiskey each and waited. The man was in his late twenties, good looking, cocky. Will was certain he was an abuser, on the track to killing. So certain he was talking to Hannibal on the level of an owner, that the power structure between them was fixed. Not fluid, interchangeable.

When Will enticed him closer, leaving ice to linger on his lips only to slowly wipe it away with his tongue, he flicked open the switchblade Hannibal bought for him and slashed open the femoral artery. Hannibal's large hand covered his mouth and nose. Together they watched as the life drained away. It was lovely, and more peaceful than he deserved but then this was an impulsive kill. They weren't set up for anything more extensive.

Will took his wallet and car keys, hiding the blood that had spread onto his dark clothes with a long overcoat. They had driven away, back to their hotel and made love for hours as the heightened emotions faded back towards something more manageable.

Smiling a little, Will tapped his fingers against the wheel and absorbed the bright afternoon. They had caught Bedelia after a morning lecture, and it was a cold bright day. Bracing after so long in the south and Will wasn't sure if he liked it or not. The cold meant Wolf Trap, meant his dogs, meant Molly and Walter. It meant killers, and horrors, and perpetual indecision.

Bedelia was tasteful but practical, she wouldn't buy glass she knew she would break. So he headed to one of the upmarket chain stores, purchased two identical cabernet glasses and returned to the car. To Bedelia's, where Hannibal stood in the hallway. Waiting. Will had time to put aside the box before he was dragged into a fierce embrace, lips pressing hard against his neck.

"I left a note." he murmured.

"I read it." Hannibal kissed him and Will settled beneath the intensity, drawing closer, allowing his physical presence to assuage Hannibal's fears.

"How is Bedelia?" he asked, reminding Hannibal why they were both here.

"Sleeping. I do not want her to wake until we are ready for her."

Will kissed Hannibal and withdrew a little, at ease with Hannibal's hand resting on his lower back as they moved deeper into the house.

"How much time do we have?" he asked, looking out into her dull garden, concrete with a slash of carefully maintained green lawn. There was nothing of importance, of insight. Assuming this position was a dismissal, building an image of a woman who saw more than she actually did through body language alone.

"The meat is marinating." Hannibal murmured.

Will smirked, "Then we have time."

"Plenty of time." Hannibal took hold of Will's wrist and pulled him away. It wasn't a surprise that Bedelia's bedroom had the same careful impersonality as the rest of her home. A space that shared nothing more than a neutral pallet and easily allocated taste.

"You are buried deeply in your head." Hannibal observed, his tone rough, "What do you see?"

"Bedelia is ordinary." he responded, throwing off his coat, kicking aside his shoes as Hannibal's body buried his.

"How so?" now his game was underway Hannibal was feeling indulgent, a professor questioning a student. As though of the two of them Will was the one Bedelia needed to lie to.

"I mean, that aside from her eloquence, her beauty and intellect she is just another accidental killer and a narcissistic liar." Will slipped his fingers beneath Hannibal's hair and pulled his head around for a kiss, refusing to pull back until he felt that loosening of muscles, Hannibal easing above him just a little.

"Bedelia has a staggering capacity for cruelty under the guise of care." Hannibal disagreed.

"A capacity she did not explore until you forced her hand." Will retorted, running his fingers along Hannibal's hard torso before grasping the end of his soft sweater and tugging it off, cast aside onto the floor, "And I'm willing to wager she never encountered such an impulse again. Not until you put the knife in her hand."

Hannibal laughed, "It was a chisel actually."

"My point exactly." Will pressed his lips to Hannibal's neck and let his hands wander until they settled at the curve of his ass, one finger running rhythmically along the crack, as their cocks rubbed side by side, breathing picking up with the rate of their hearts.

When Will slipped one hand down the back of Hannibal’s pants so he could finally grip bare skin, everything paused. Hannibal’s lips pulling away so he could rest his rest his face against Will’s, hips stilling. Deciding this was a matter that needed to be forced, Will rolled them over and worshipped Hannibal’s body. Running his tongue along the dip of each muscle as one hand tugged off the rest of their clothing. In a breath all he needed was to reach out in order to find a bottle of lube in his hand. Utterly respecting Bedelia’s vibrator habit, Will rubbed some into his fingers and pushed deep into Hannibal’s ass.

There was no give, no relaxation, and there was only so much Will could coax. He allowed his fingers to rest, brushing marginally against Hannibal’s prostate, tongue running along the inside of his thigh, pushing just a little. This required trust. More than Hannibal had ever shared with another human being and as much as it warred with his own desires, Will allowed things to take their course. As everything else had been inevitable, so was this. Hannibal’s hips jerked, once, and the calm they had worked up to collapsed.

Will’s teeth dug into the thin skin of Hannibal’s hip and began to pump his fingers back and forth, twisting, using a bare amount of lube.

“Will.” it was a breathy command, “Now Will, before I change my mind.”

“There’s no need to threaten.” Will murmured, releasing his fingers and watching the spasm of Hannibal’s flat stomach as he crawled back up his body to take a kiss.

“You rarely react the way I want you to with anything else.” he retorted, in a decidedly bitchy tone.

Trying not to roll his eyes, Will rubbed some lube on his cock and reached down, pushing up against Hannibal’s hole until it gave and they sank into one another. For all his control Hannibal’s mouth fell open, eyes closed as he shifted only slightly, trying to deal with this new and frightening intrusion. Certain that if he was too respectful Hannibal would change his mind, Will lifted Hannibal’s hard thighs up, pushed down a little with his body and started to move. Not quite hard, not quite gentle, making sure Hannibal felt every inch of him, lingering, only to pull out quickly and push back in.

Hannibal wasn’t comfortable, not at first, but his pride made him hang on. Will decided that was not reason enough and was determined to transform this experience. Pushing even closer, he used his body to rub Hannibal’s cock, creating two fixed points of pleasure. Inside and outside. Kissing his neck until Hannibal was so overwhelmed by Will around him, over him, in him, the fear shuddered into something else, something more. The levee broke and Hannibal’s silence transformed into deep moans as he eagerly started pushing back. Thighs tightened around Will’s waist, hips tilting to smash into his as the bed cracked against the wall.

Will felt sweat beading down his throat, licked up by Hannibal who had shifted so they were closer together, fingernails scraping down his back, unable to hold back a shout as Will hammered him into the mattress. The sudden shift into potential violence and constant press of his cock between their bodies triggered Hannibal’s orgasm. A long, sustained moan of rapture before his body collapsed back into the pillows.

Not quite finished, Will pulled back, out, and rose up onto his knees, jacking his cock. Absorbed and utterly seduced by the red flush of Hannibal’s honeysuckle skin, that droop of fringe across his eyes, a small smirk at the corner of his lips as though he knew precisely how he looked. Limbs stretched and languid. Eyes glowing. Decadent and fucked out.

It worked. Will climaxed, hard, all over Hannibal’s chest. Hot spurts of come jetting over his pecs and flat stomach. The storm still raging in his ears, Will carefully licked up the mess before forcing his tongue into Hannibal’s mouth.

Humming slightly and accepting Will’s come without comment, one of Hannibal’s hands settled on the small of Will’s back, the other running through his hair as they allowed this experience to subside. When Will looked down at Hannibal’s face he was met with an expression of open wonder, “You delight me.”

“I intend to do more than that.” Will’s voice felt rough but he couldn’t help smiling, pressing his lips against Hannibal’s collar bone.

There was a smile against the side of his face, but their rest was short lived. Hannibal insisted they shower and check on Bedelia. It had been too long already. At the moment she was laid out on the couch. Hannibal administered another injection to ensure she slept and continued his preparations for their meal.

Will poured them both a glass of wine, and pulled a battered copy of Moby Dick from his coat pocket, getting settled on a stool to read. Their conversation was light, and pleasant, Hannibal unable to hold back his disapproval of American Literature as he carefully tied the loin in banana leaf.

"Just because something is old, doesn't mean it's good." Will reproved.

"Those are not my standards." Hannibal retorted.

"There is a litany of evidence that suggests otherwise." Will retorted, turning a page and not looking up.

"I like early art for its primordial energy." Hannibal explained, "There is an unparalleled vibrancy in a culture trying to explain itself without the language to do so."

As a gesture Will held up his book, locked eyes with Hannibal and drawled, "'Call me Ishmael.'"

Hannibal blinked, "Moby Dick is incomparable to The Odyssey."

"I disagree." Will sipped from his drink, "Moby Dick is a patchwork of styles and cultures, a cross between the mysticism of the invaded and Puritanism of the invaders. It doesn't make sense a lot of the time."

"You are drawn to the chaotic structure." Hannibal surmised.

"I am drawn to the myriad of meanings, each of which do not have to be false to make another true. The white whale can be saviour and destroyer. It does not detract from its purpose in the narrative. It simply is."

Hannibal's eyes glittered, "'Call me Ishmael.'" he repeated.

"'Call me Ishmael.'" Will nodded.

Hannibal placed the joint in the oven and they changed for dinner. They carried Bedelia upstairs and removed her work clothes, soft silk blouse, wool skirt, no synthetic fabric. Will ran his fingers along the outfits in the wardrobe before pulling out the right dress. A ball gown, slashed down the centre that would rest against the pert mounds of her breasts.

Hannibal held her weight while Will pulled it on, making the adequate adjustments until he was satisfied. Will touched up her makeup while Hannibal gently tidied her hair.

"She really is intensely beautiful." Will murmured, fingertips dusky with the eyeshadow he'd rubbed into the corner of her eyes.

"Yes." Hannibal agreed, contributing nothing further and Will was glad for it.

When they were satisfied they left her to sleep. Will curled up with his book on the couch while Hannibal made the finishing touches to dinner. When Hannibal was satisfied, he woke Bedelia and took advantage of her pliability to place her at the foot of the table, IV attached to her arm. Will remained hidden, watching as awareness slowly filtered back into her eyes. The joint of leg steaming on the table, its rich scent filtering through the house, making his mouth water, making hers as well no doubt.

The perversity, the degradation of forcing someone to dine on themselves was so brutally elegant it made Will’s blood run hot. Of its own accord his mind opened out into the many other punishments Hannibal could have inflicted over the years. The many more to come.

Unmoving, he watched as Bedelia reached out and grasped the sharp fork Hannibal had used to set the table, and rest it on her lap. He wondered who it was for. Bedelia was too drugged for an attempt on Hannibal to be worthwhile. It could be for him, he supposed. There was a third place at the table. Or more likely it was for her. Bedelia's final act of defiance, taking her own life so Hannibal couldn’t. The only thing that mattered is that he be there to watch. It would be much more pragmatic to do it when she was alone.

Once last look into the fire. It was an impulse Will understood far too well.

Arms slipped around his waist followed by a kiss against his neck, “Are you ready to step out of the shadows Will?”

Will relaxed against Hannibal’s chest and settled into his warmth, humming happily as lips brushed against his cheeks, his hair, “Yes.”

With a final kiss against his lips, Hannibal pulled away and strode into the dining room. Bedelia’s eyes narrowed, her lip curled into a sneer. As she gripped the fork, Will called out, “I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

Distracted, she turned and sought him out. Will stepped into the room, gesturing at the fork in her hand, “It’s rude to take your own life at the dinner table.”

Bedelia’s glare was frosty, “Will. Always a pleasure.”

He wandered over and held out his hand, “The fork, please.” he could see her trying to decide what was more important. Taking her own life to deny Hannibal the pleasure, or allow herself a chance. To come between them and wheedle her way back into Hannibal’s good graces. Try and show Will up for the weak minded, emotionally unstable liability she thought he was. Will smiled, confident and just that side of obnoxious and in a burst of pride Bedelia handed her life back to them. She gave Will the fork.

“I find myself without appetite.” her blue eyes sought Hannibal who had been watching the performance intently, dark eyes filling with greed at the subtlety of Will’s manipulation, “I daresay you’ve gone to too much trouble.”

“For you Bedelia, I will always make the extra effort.” he reassured, looking to Will, “If you could take a seat Will.”

Inclining his head, Will walked around the table and settled between them and into the familiarity of Hannibal’s dinner performance. The pouring of wine. Unveiling of delicately sauteed vegetables to accompany the perfectly roasted meat. It was moist, well seasoned and certainly the centre piece of the evening.

“Delicious.” Will commented, slipping another bite into his mouth and watching the darkness gather in Hannibal’s eyes as he chewed, and swallowed, in full knowledge of who he was eating. If they were anywhere else, Will suspected Hannibal would have given up on the pretense already and had him bent over the table to show his appreciation and adoration. Only good manners held him in check.

Bedelia made a humming noise at the back of her throat, somewhere between a gag and a murmur of pleasure. Hannibal glanced at her and smiled. She was forced to eat with her fingers and she was eagerly wiping them clean on a napkin, as rapidly as she allowed herself to do anything.

“It is not to your taste?” Hannibal questioned in a tone of disapproval.

“I...lost the taste for meat some time ago.” she murmured, gave a wan smile in return.

“That is a shame.” Will interjected, “You taste wonderful.”

Bedelia’s jaw ticked, anger breaking through the drugged daze of her mind, “You will not survive.” she hissed, “He will consume you as well.”

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed slightly in fury disguised as displeasure. He was prepared to refute the statement when he saw Will shift, a smile form on his lips.

“You know, Bedelia. The problem with living in a state of permanent concealment of yourself, is it will lead to the obscuring of everything else.” he took another pointed bite of meat and continued, “Things that were once clear become shrouded in a fog of self involvement. You equated yourself with me, and as such have decided that our fates are identical. We are both Bluebeard’s Wives. Destined for the slaughter.” Bedelia narrowed her eyes and Will paused, placed his elbow on the table and rested his head on his hand, watching her, “It never once crossed your mind that we were living a different narrative.” his smile grew wide and decidedly wolfish and he paused. Baiting. Until Bedelia gave into her irritation.

“I am not convinced that is the case.” she hissed, “You have dedicated yourself to a life of pale subservience, unable to ever step beyond the veil.”

“Do you know the story of Kali?”

“No.” it clearly irritated her to say it, “I do not.”

Will carefully set aside his cutlery and looked up, viewing Bedelia with the same casual disdain as he once did his students, “There are plenty of interpretations of how she came to be, whom she belonged to, but my personal favourite is her transformation from Parvati, a Goddess of Light, into one of Death, Destruction and Rebirth by voluntarily jumping down her husband’s throat.” he picked up his wine glass, “Men were being terrorised by a demon and only a woman could kill it. Shiva retained in his body the poison that had bled from the churning ocean during creation, which he drank, and absorbed, to stop it from polluting the world,” there was a flicker of recognition in her eyes, as well as some bewilderment and Will sipped from his glass, “A previous, unrelated action allowed Parvati to become Kali, via the medium of her husband.” he looked deep into the pale liquid and placed the glass on the table, fingertips running neatly across the edge as he gazed directly into Bedelia’s eyes, “Shiva is the foundation of all conscious reality and Kali, the march of time and the inevitability of death, dances eternally on his willing, prostate body.”

Bedelia reached out and drank deeply from her wine as she unpicked Will’s story. Trying to assign her place. When she realised she lacked one, that she was irrelevant to this tale, she gripped the stem of glass and finally began to understand. For all the conversations she had shared with Hannibal, Bedelia had never truly believed that he would kill her. Punish her, certainly. Humiliate her, possibly. But never, never treat her as just another victim. One of the many pigs bound on his table, unworthy of name or recognition. Now, at last, she saw through her own veil.

Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham were Kali and Shiva. The foundation of one another’s destruction, consuming poison and interchanging its purpose for transformation. Eternal and unchangeable. There was never a place for her.

Hannibal didn’t _want_ someone like him. There was no challenge in such an arrangement, she was just a convenient companion when he needed one. Arrogant enough to presume she could hold his attention. Will would never follow Hannibal, not in the way she assumed. They would take one another to places they would never ordinarily travel. Hannibal wanted to learn the value of life, Will desired to understand his craving for death and destruction. It was a precarious balance of complete opposites with untrodden passageways in between.

Will smiled at her and his expression was almost kind, almost understanding, “So you see Bedelia. You lied to yourself, started to believe your own delusion, and now you are here.”

“With you.” her voice was dry.

“With us both.” Hannibal corrected lightly.

Will glanced at Hannibal and they shared a long, significant look which excluded her entirely. Coming to a decision, Bedelia smashed her empty glass on the table edge and jammed the sharp edge directly into her throat. Blood sprayed across the table, spoiling the food. Will pushed back slightly to avoid the worst of it and watched as she slumped in her seat. Life and consciousness slipping away until her lovely blue eyes saw nothing at all. Just as they had in life.

Hannibal delicately dabbed the corner of his lips with a napkin, “I’m glad she chose to participate at last.”

Humming in agreement, Will stood up and together they started to remove all DNA traces of their presence. Jack would know who was responsible as soon as he saw the scene but it was the principle of the thing. Working quickly and meticulously, they were ready to go in half the time Hannibal was used to.

Calm and seemingly collected they got into the Mustang, Will drove away and as soon as they reached the deck all restraint snapped. Hannibal devoured Will’s mouth, tore off his clothes and shoved him blindly down the stairs until they could topple onto the nearby couch. Will fell first and he dragged down Hannibal’s trousers and heaved him close, onto his lap, fingers making fast work of his shirt as Hannibal grasped the base of Will’s cock and sank down.

Still loose from earlier, it only burned a little. Precome their only lube and it made every sensation harsh and vital. Transitional. Having never done this before Hannibal knew now he would crave it, as surely as he craved being buried in Will. Fucking him mercilessly as they shared blood and breath. A new world of endless possibility opening out before them. Will’s teeth brushed against his collarbone, fingers toying with one nipple, his other hand gripping Hannibal’s waist, urging him to go harder and faster.

It was over too soon and not quickly enough. A white haze blinding them both as they hurtled through climax, Will’s seed hot, clinging to Hannibal’s insides. Reluctant to break this connection between them Hannibal simply remained where he was, nose buried in Will’s wild curls as they continued to caress one another. The rest of their clothes were removed and the jostling set their nerves alight once more.

Will, careful to never leave Hannibal’s body, eased him back onto the couch and used his own come as lube to gently ease them both to a longer, deeper orgasm. It seemed to unfurl slowly between them, a perfect unity of mind and body as they gazed into one another’s eyes and simply fell all over again. An endless moment of beauty and perfection, as Bedelia’s blood dried on her dining room table.

\--

Alana was undecided about London. In many ways it was like Baltimore. Mixed climate, dark and frequently grey with unexpected bouts of rain. Yet there was art here, music, education. They occupied a beautiful four storey house in Hampstead and carried on as normal as possible under the circumstances. 

That evening she and Margot were relaxing before the fire, Joshua asleep in bed, when there was a knock at their door. Margot called them in. Paul, their head of security eased into the room.

“There’s someone at the door.” he seemed hesitant, “It’s Will Graham.”

Margot sat up straight and exchanged a look with Alana, “Get rid of him. We need to leave.”

“I would, but-”

“But?” Alana cocked her head to the side.

“He’s injured, and desperate.” he looked guilty, “I said I would ask.”

Wanting this over with, Alana knotted her hair over one shoulder and stood up, and nodded that she would follow. Their heels clicked on the checkered marble floor as they walked, an echo of the high white walls and winding staircase at their back. It was not the elaborate luxury of Murkrat Farm but it was charming and surprisingly cosy with a myriad of old period details they both appreciated.

It’s effect was somewhat ruined by Will Graham, who was slumped in the doorway gripping his ribs with one arm and using the other to stay upright. It was raining outside and he was dripping onto the floor, a steady thump of moisture slipping down curls that were plastered to his head, mixing with the blood dripping from his fingertips. Pale and exhausted looking, he still forced a grimace when he caught sight of them.

“Alana. Margot.” he took a deep, shuddering breath and slumped further into the doorway, “You look well.”

Margot peered at him, “You don’t.”

Will shrugged as though it was something that happened all the time, which by now it most likely was.

“How did you find us?” Alana demanded.

“I was a cop before I was a profiler for the FBI.” he answered, pulling up, gripping his ribs harder, those perfect blue eyes gazing earnestly into hers, “Plus, I know you Alana. It didn’t take me long to figure it out.”

Alana bit her lip and looked away. Will shouldn’t be here. It wasn’t right. He was supposed to be dead, or missing at least. On the run. It didn't matter as long as he was far away from them.

“What happened?” Margot asked curiously.

“What do you think happened?” Will retorted, his expression dry and sardonic.

“Is he on his way here?” Alana questioned, trying not to panic, to be rational even as Hannibal’s threats rang in her ears. They needed to run. Somewhere small and rundown so no one would ever find them.

"I don't know." he was panting a little, breathing through the pain, "I made a mistake and I ran. I'm sorry Alana you were right, you were always right." he took another deep breath and all of a sudden Will's eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped back against the door, unconscious. Paul stood uncertainly between them.

"Ms Bloom? Ms Verger?" he questioned, "What would you like me to do?"

Margot looked at her sidelong, "Alana?"

A part of her wanted to put him in an ambulance and run. Far from here. Yet...Will had been with Hannibal. No one knew him better. This was their best chance of evading him altogether.

Failing that, Will would lure Hannibal here and they could end him once and for all.

"Take him upstairs and call a doctor." she ordered before turning on her heel and returning to the sitting room, "I need a drink."

\--

Will didn’t wake for another day and a half. There were ligature marks on his wrists and ankles, his ribs were badly bruised but not broken and while not malnourished, he was suffering from exhaustion and dehydration. There was also a stab wound in his abdomen. Not deep enough to cause any permanent damage, but it would scar. Alana was sitting by Will’s side, reading, when he came round.

Blinking blearily back to consciousness, he slowly took in the room. The walls were painted a pale sage green and the all furniture was antique, light regency inspired pieces that just fit with the feel of the house. It was still light outside, a watery promise of spring as winter started to fade. Following the IV needle in his arm, Will caught her eye and slowly started to sit up.

“So.” she said expectantly, “What happened? I thought you were dead.”

“I used to dream about death as a kid.” was what he said instead and Alana fought the urge to snap, too much time in Hannibal’s head had made his conversation even more obscure and cyclical than usual, “I remember begging for him not to take me yet. I’m starting to think that it wasn’t a figment of my imagination, and I made some sort of deal." his smile was bitter, "Sometimes death would be preferable.”

Alana crossed her legs and sat back in her seat, eyeing him carefully. Will seemed okay, as okay as he ever was, but that didn’t help her assessment. When it came to understanding Will and his numerous disorders she had always been off base. Hannibal was the only person who had ever sufficiently grasped them.

“What happened Will?” she repeated.

“We fell off a cliff is what happened.” Will drawled, reaching over for a glass of water and hardly flinching as he put pressure on his wound, “We stitched each other up, stayed off radar and killed Bedelia.”

“That was three months ago-what have you been doing since?”

“Trying to maintain my sense of self.” he sipped from his glass and she was once again struck by the emotion in his eyes, the sense that he was seeing so much more than an ordinary mind should ever comprehend, “It was wrong Alana and I realised it the moment Hannibal made my place at the table. It was not where I was supposed to be.” he looked into his glass, at the clear water reflecting the light, “I tried to run. Hannibal tried to stop me.”

She tried not to clutch the edge of her seat, but her heart was beating quickly, afraid of what Will’s answer could be, “Where is he now?”

“Chained to the deck of a boat I unmoored at a small port just outside Southampton.” his smile was grim, “If we’re lucky he’ll either collide with another ship or keep drifting out into the Atlantic.”

“You didn’t kill him.” Alana stated.

“No.” he glanced up, “I can’t do that...I can create circumstances in which death is a high possibility, but I cannot do the deed. Not now, not while he still takes up so much room in my head.”

Alana flicked a glance outside, “You shouldn’t have come here Will.”

“I know.” he agreed, continuing softly, “I just wanted to see you one last time.”

Alana looked up at that and narrowed her eyes slightly, “What are you going to do?”

There was a wry twist of his lips, “I think the less I tell you about that, the better.”

“You won’t take your own life.” she said urgently.

“No.” he paused, expression fond, “I’m not planning on it.”

“Good.” Alana nodded quickly and started to tap her fingertips against the ornate arm of the chair she sat in.

Once his glass was empty, Will placed it aside, pulled the drip out of his arm and moved gingerly to the edge of the bed, “Could you show me where the bathroom is? I’ve been asleep for awhile.”

There was some amusement in his expression, a certain disbelief that they had wound up here and Alana allowed a smile to break through her anxiety. They started this as friends, and Alana would like them to part that way. So she helped Will up from the bed and took him to the bathroom.

After a long, careful shower Will, dressed in clothes Margot had selected and joined them for dinner. A simple vegetable curry prepared by their chef that only Joshua showed any enthusiasm for. Margot gently tipped her wine glass from side to side, green eyes lingering on the ligature marks on Will’s wrists.

“Why didn’t he give you water?”

“Hannibal?”

“You’re well fed-just dehydrated. Why do one and not the other?”

“We were on a boat. It was an apt punishment.”

Margot’s lips turned down as she considered that, “I’m surprised he let you escape.”

“Hannibal has always underestimated me.” his lips quirked, attention shifting to Joshua who was watching attentively, “It is convenient that he does.”

“My brother did the same.” she commented, her tone light and agreeable, “It was his key failing.”

“One of many.” he agreed, smiling at Joshua who grinned back and suddenly launched into a series of questions about who he was, where he came from and Will answered them all concisely, warmly even. It was unusual to say the least. Joshua was an alert but quiet child accustomed to living in a sheltered world of adults, he rarely reached out to anyone. By the time dinner was over and they were retiring to the lounge, Joshua had decided Will was his new best friend and had all but jumped into his arms.

Jazz music played in the background as Alana rested against Margot, breathing in the scent of her hair, her skin, as Will played with Joshua in front of the fire. They were drawing together, murmuring quietly and laughing at unexpected intervals. It was lulling, comforting. For a moment she allowed herself the fantasy that everything was normal. She was with her wife, and a friend had come to visit. They were talking, about London, and Baltimore. Catching up about Jack as though they hadn’t both fled the scene of a long, drawn out massacre. In the end Joshua fell asleep curled up against Will’s side and Margot carried him upstairs.

Refilling Will’s glass with whiskey, Alana settled back on the couch, “You should consider getting dogs again.”

“You have a nice home here Alana.” was his response instead, gazing into the fire.

“It’s a safe house.”

He flashed a smile, all white teeth and warm, dancing eyes, “Then it is the most charming, luxurious safe house I have ever encountered.”

“You can take the girl out of Muskrat Farm…” Alana began, allowing her voice to drift off as she found herself smiling again, Will returning that smile.

Margot appeared in the doorway and paused a moment, watching them both with intrigue, “Are you sure you were never together?” she asked, dropping at Alana’s side and stretching her legs out along the couch.

“Quite sure.” Will’s eyes flashed with that secret, unnameable feeling once again, “We are fundamentally incompatible.”

Margot smiled, nodded, “That is for the best.” and she pressed her lips to Alana's. 

They drifted to bed after another couple of drinks. Will seemed at ease with the pain he was in, absently running fingertips along the marks on his wrists and frequently getting lost inside his own head. Reliving what brought him here, Alana supposed. Deciding where it would take him next. For all her sentimentality, her view on that could not change. Will had to leave, and only when he was a figure on the horizon would she feel safe to make a move again.

Her family came first, and she swore she would do whatever it took to keep them alive. No matter the bargain she had to make. 

\--

Humming a little under her breath, Margot removed her coat and handed it to the nearest bodyguard and headed into the house. Alana had taken Joshua to a park nearby while Margot dealt with the company she ran in her son’s name. Heading up to Joshua’s room she paused at the sound of high pitched giggling and allowed a moment to enjoy it, fingertips resting on the doorframe.

Pushing it open, Margot stopped, demanded, “Where’s Alana?”

Will was leaning against Joshua’s bed, her son curled up in his lap as they read a book together. Glancing up, a faint smile on his lips, Will shrugged, “I think she got held up with something.”

There was something about his nonchalance that made her feel cold, the way Mason used to make her feel cold and her fingers tightened on the door handle, “She went to the park…” attention falling on her son, who was peering at her curiously before he evidently decided it wasn’t important and tugged at Will’s arm to continue the story.

Dread settled at the base of her stomach and she screamed for security. No one came. Pushing away from the doorframe she ran down the stairs and staggered to a stop. Paul was lying on the floor, unconscious, and as she checked each room, each person, it was the same. Exactly the same.

Calling out Alana’s name, she stumbled into the lounge. Their sanctuary. Unable to hold back a dry sob when she discovered Hannibal Lecter standing by the window casually sipping from a cup of coffee. The curl of his smile when he turned and noticed sent a wave of nausea through her stomach.

Feeling faint, holding onto the door to remain upright, Margot croaked out slowly, “Where is Alana?”

“Quite safe.” he reassured, “We will take good care of her.”

Margot shook herself awake and reached for the gun she kept concealed in the lining of her suit when Joshua ran up behind them calling, “Mommy!” Small arms hugged her tightly from behind. When she reached out to hold him, Joshua had already slipped away. Running back towards Will who lifted him smoothly from the floor, hardly pausing in his steady pace towards them. Waiting at the doorway, holding Margot’s gaze without shame or recrimination until she moved aside.

“Giver her back to me.” Margot whispered as she felt a tear fall from her eye, “Please.”

“I am afraid I cannot do that.” Hannibal seemed almost regretful but she didn’t miss the hunger in his eyes as he gazed at Will, sharing a secret, whispered conversation with her son, “Alana exchanged her life for Will’s three years ago, it belongs to me.”

“She’s my wife.” another tear tracked down her cheek and she rubbed it away, “You do _not_ need to do this.”

“Poor Margot.” Hannibal placed his coffee cup on the side table, “That you should forever find yourself in places that can only cause you terrible suffering.”

Gulping and trying to compose herself against the despair bearing down upon the life she had fought so hard to build. There was one frail hope left. Tearing her gaze away from Hannibal Lecter, she tried to appeal to Will Graham. He’d been human once. They almost shared a child, had her brother not intervened.

“Will?” she asked, "Please. What could she have ever done to you?"

“Alana betrayed me.” he answered, smiling at Joshua before looking over his head to meet Margot’s eye, “Her care was always pretense, a veneer of courtesy with the condescending interest of a psychiatrist desperate to crack open my mind and tidy it all up.”

“That is who she is.” Margot pleaded.

“And this is who we are.” he responded simply, as though that was enough, as though that alone was explanation, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry Margot. You’ve endured so much already.” he made a move, as though he was planning to hand Joshua back but Hannibal stepped in the way, stilling him, one large hand resting on Will's waist.

“Will.” his voice was low, almost urgent, “There is very little time.”

Joshua eyed him curiously, while curling closer to Will. Silent and watchful as he absorbed Hannibal’s presence, the heavy magnetism even animals and small children could sense.

“I know.” his voice was soft and Margot couldn’t bear the adoration shining in their eyes as they were caught, fixed, in one another’s orbit.

“Our lives will begin anew.” Hannibal’s hand moved slowly from Will’s waist, sliding between his shoulder blades before slipping through the curls at the back of his head, “This version of ourselves will be no more.” he leant in, pressed his lips to Will’s and kept their foreheads together, “How much we change depends on the decision you make in this moment.”

Will said nothing, he merely pressed his lips to Hannibal’s and strode away. Margot reached for her son only for Hannibal’s hand to lightly touch her wrist and pull it down, "Ah, ah, ah."

Stepping over Paul's body, Will opened the front door and left without once looking back, Joshua curled up on his hip with no idea of what was happening. What it meant. How it changed absolutely everything.

“He was never truly yours Margot.” Hannibal’s voice dripped in her ear, “You were not meant to be a mother.”

Margot heaved a dry sob and pressed a hand to her mouth to keep it in, keep it down as he moved aside and around her, following in Will’s footsteps, pausing at the last second and turning round with a faint smile, “I would advise you do not pursue us. It will not end well.”

The door closed, clicking with finality. Inevitability. Margot collapsed onto the floor, unable to hold her own weight. Everything had gone white, a soundless roar as her world cracked and dissolved into nothing. Alana was gone. Joshua was gone. Just those words rolling around and around until darkness finally pulled her under.

_He was never truly yours Margot. You were not meant to be a mother._

That mocking, cruel jibe in Mason’s voice, _Poor, poor Margot._

Scratch, repeat, back to the beginning.

_Poor, poor Margot._


	2. Epilogue

Rain broke from the sky suddenly and totally. A typical summer storm that no one was prepared for. Coats were used as makeshift covers as people ran across the street. Some headed home as fast as possible. Others ducked into shops, bars and restaurants. Worried that the water would make her white dress transparent, Danni ducked into the nearest open door without really thinking about what it was. Blinking water out of her eyes and removing lank strands of blonde hair from her face, she almost collided with some poor kid and held out her hands to apologise.

“It’s okay.” he grinned, revealing perfect white teeth and the prettiest pair of pale blue eyes, “It raining outside?”

Coming back to herself Danni nodded and burst out an awkward laugh, “Yeah it is. Just started.”

Looking round she realised that she’d wound up in some kind of gallery. There were hundreds of them in New York, she hardly noticed them anymore but now she was thinking that might have been a bit of a mistake. There was a canvass almost the size of the wall she just couldn’t take her eyes off. The colours were rich, dark reds, violent blues, deep purples all shot through with shocks of white, black and gold. Shapes, the form of people, of nature were suggested and blurred before descending back into this cacophony of colour.

“Woah…” she breathed, eyes rounding as she tried to process a thousand different cues at once.

“Do you like it?” the kid asked, slipping hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“It’s amazing.” she drifted deeper into the gallery, taking in smaller, more concentrated canvasses that singled out a colour, a feeling and ran with it. Intersped with abstract sculpture, intricate shapes made of industrial metals she was unfamiliar with.

“Who does all this stuff?” she lingered before a square of red, shot through with black and gold. If the world ended and the sky broke, it was exactly what she would imagine. Or hoped she would. She couldn’t tell if she’d had that thought before looking at the painting, or if the painting itself had created the thought.

“My dad, actually.” he sounded coy, but proud.

“No way!” she gasped, “Your dad is a seriously talented guy.”

“Thank you.” a third person appeared from the back of the gallery, “It’s always good to meet a fellow enthusiast.”

As a rule, Danni didn’t have a thing for older guys. They were usually fat, balding and spent more time lusting over the idea of them while being simultaneously bitter about their lost youth. Who they were didn't matter. Girls were just tits with holes they wished they could fuck. This guy though. Slim, a little tan, with a mess of beautiful dark curls shot through with silver. Heavy stubble, full red lips and huge, vibrant blue eyes. Paint splattered, comfortable looking blue jeans and a heavily smeared white t-shirt.

“I’m not-really.”

Christ she could feel herself blushing.

“But-this is amazing.” she rushed on, “I love it.” she was drawn back to the red canvass, “Where does it come from?”

“Everywhere. Nowhere.” his voice had a low, soothing cadence and she looked at him sidelong, trying not to stare, “It’s difficult to explain.”

She hummed thoughtfully, her attention drawn by the door at the front of the gallery opening and closing. A truly distinguished looking older guy was running fingers through wet hair, slicking it back, revealing the highest, sharpest cheekbones she’d ever seen on a man. Full mouth, deep set dark eyes and a timeless, precision made suit in pale grey that looked entirely unsuitable for the hot weather.

“You get caught out as well?” the kid asked, sounding amused.

Rather than dignify that with a response, he shot a dry look across the room and strode towards them. One hand reached out to the kid’s dad, resting on his shoulder briefly before he leant round for a light kiss that was met effortlessly. A practiced move that didn’t seem to break artist guy’s concentration at all. He was still gazing into all that red.

“How is the new piece coming along?” his accent was European and unidentifiable.

“Slowly.” artist guy sounded disgruntled as he turned smoothly into suit guy’s arms, “I’m finding it difficult to contextualise my inspiration.”

“Anything we can do to help?” the kid asked, leaning against the wall with his legs crossed watching them, glancing at Danni with a small smile.

“No.” he kissed suit guy, lingering a little before drawing away and looking at Danni, “What do you admire about this one?”

She bit her lip, feeling a little nervous now three pairs of eyes were focussed on her. They were clearly wealthy, educated and she didn’t have the words to explain what she meant, what these paintings made her feel. They were intricate and dizzying, full of colours spiralling seemingly out of control with those structures hidden beneath.

“I like.” she paused and gathered her confidence, “I like that it is so much more than it seems. There’s so much red it’s like it’s concealing something, when it isn’t. Red is blood, its life.” she blushed and shook her head, “I don’t know.”

“Blood looks black in the moonlight.” the kid interjected, his tone encouraging even as his pale eyes glittered with something distant, something cold.

“Does it?” looking back at the canvass she spotted the cracks of black, how it edged so strongly against all those broken spaces of white and she frowned, saying softly, “It looks like falling.”

The kid’s eyes dropped suddenly on suit guy, while artist guy smiled, missing the exchange, “That is what I was thinking about when I painted it.” he held out his hand, “William.” she took it, “This is my husband Michael and our son Joshua.”

“Danni.” she waved a little awkwardly, intimidated by their collective stillness, “It’s great to meet you.”

“What are your plans for dinner?” Michael asked, one hand still resting possessively on William’s shoulder.

“Errmm-I don’t really have any. I was just heading to a bar to meet my friends-”

“That’s too bad.” Joshua cut in as he moved to William’s side, “Because my father is a wonderful cook.”

Even though he couldn’t have been older than seventeen there was something about his grace, his confidence, that was timeless. Clothes a perfect crossover from both parents. Comfortable jeans, expensive brown leather shoes and matching belt with a tailored black shirt. Handsome, with jet black hair, pale eyes and soft, tan skin. There was something sultry, almost seductive about him, about them all that made her unexpectedly aware of her body. How stuttering and clumsy it was,

Michael’s lips pressed together into something like a smile, “We would all love to hear more about your view on William’s work. He so rarely listens to my criticism.”

“Because you view anything post renaissance as too modern.” William all but rolled his eyes before adding for Danni’s benefit, “My husband has a very selective view on art.”

“On everything.” Joshua added in a drawl.

“Neither of you are selective enough.” his voice was fond, teasing, it sounded like a joke they’d been sharing between them for years, and she half smiled, enjoying the atmosphere as dark eyes settled back on her, “We would be honoured if you could join us.”

She ought to leave. Julie had just broken up with her boyfriend and they were supposed to be knocking back margaritas and dancing on tables. But-the art in this place. It was speaking to her. And it was only dinner. She could meet everyone after.

“That would be great, actually.” she smiled, nodded and Joshua grinned.

“Perfect.”

“You go upstairs, I’ll close up.” William encouraged, all but shooing them away. Danni followed Joshua and Michael to a door at the back of the gallery, feeling excited, a little dizzy.

William locked all the doors. By the time she worked out what that meant it was too late. Wine was poured, slow, complex conversation had started to flow and she was gone. Lost in this world. All thoughts of escape abandoned when Joshua smiled her way, a promise of something unknown and infernal in the sparkle of his eyes while his father's stood aside. Sharing one long, inscrutable look that said everything. Nothing.

Red flashing behind her eyes like the sensation of falling.

Blood looks black beneath the moonlight.

_See._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it! Hopefully it makes sense! 
> 
> Through all three seasons I've had this sense that Will Graham is holding back. Not just from the world, but from Hannibal as well. This is what I think he's capable of when the scales have fallen from his eyes and he decides to take revenge on all the people that have used or betrayed him since the beginning. 
> 
> Initially I was going to make him kinder to Margot, but I don't think that would have been true to his transition as Hannibal's equal. 
> 
> And they always wanted a family...


End file.
